


like winning in reverse

by twobirdsofficial



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Other, just some stupid feelings and bad decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 09:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsofficial/pseuds/twobirdsofficial
Summary: violet is kind of in love and kind of drunk and definitely really stupid."are you offering me your ass so i won't be bored?"





	like winning in reverse

**Author's Note:**

> wrote 800 whole words of violet/katya without mentioning trixie by name one single time? don't expect it to happen again. warnings for alcohol and some discussion of addiction and some more discussion of anxiety.

Violet likes champagne.

Scratch that.

Violet likes the feeling of bubbles dancing down her throat. She likes spending three hundred dollars and swallowing it.

“Bourgeois freak,” Katya says. She pronounces the French word with a distinctly Russian disdain, but she breaks into a half-smile before she finishes speaking. “Weren’t you a starving artist like the rest of us?”

Violet grins, takes another long sip from the bottle hanging out of her hand. “Sure, bitch. But I knew I was destined for more.”

Katya rolls her eyes and tugs the bottle from Violet’s grip, holds it out of her reach. “Leave it to Violet Chachki to literally piss away her winnings.” She gestures crudely to her crotch.

Violet’s eyes roll back in her head. “Fuck you, bitch, give that back. I don’t need your alcoholic ass throwing up on my shoes.” She gestures at heels that could be exchanged, in favorable markets, for a mid-sized automobile. “Don’t worry,” she says, “I’ll donate to your Kickstarter so you can stop getting your wigs from the Taco Bell dumpster.”

Katya twirls her hair, a monstrosity that looks like it was designed for a low-budget production of Macbeth. “What? you don’t like this?” She waggles her tongue in Violet’s direction, leaning toward her. Violet smells cigarettes on her breath.

“God, shut up,” she says. “I don’t know you how make that look so fucking good.”

Katya settles back against the couch. They’re in the VIP area of the club, the kind of place where Katya always seems unsettled at first. It’s easy to see it—the frantic movement of her hands when she’s uncomfortable, the shallow breathing like she can’t get enough air—why someone like this might want to just get fucking high and stop thinking so much.

That’s never been Violet’s problem. She downs the rest of the bottle and orders a cocktail. “Has anyone ever told you you should be on Xanax?”

Katya snorts. “Can you order me a gin and tonic, hold the gin.”

“You’re not going to sit here and drink fucking tonic water like a senior citizen.” Violet’s cocktail tastes like cherries.

“I was going to practice sexually pleasuring an olive.”

“God.”

Katya adjusts her legs, crossing one over the other. “I might head out soon.”

“Oh my God, it’s midnight; you can’t be fucking serious.”

“Ever had fun in a club sober? Performing aside.”

Violet considers, taking another sip of her drink. A maraschino cherry bobs beneath the ice; she reaches for it with her tongue. “Once,” she says. She locks eyes with Katya. “Getting fucked in a bathroom stall.”

Katya rests her chin on her hand. “Are you offering me your ass so I won’t be bored?”

“Yes, bitch,” Violet says. It’s almost a drawl, and she drains the last of the liquid from her glass and plucks the cherry from among the ice. She pulls it from the stem with her mouth, lips and teeth, maintaining eye contact.

She never claimed to be subtle.

Katya seems to twitch suddenly, and Violet smirks. “You in?”

Katya shakes her head more in disbelief than in disagreement. The fake Russian accent overtakes her when she says, over the top, “How do you like your eggs in the morning?”

Violet’s stomach clenches. She wants to say _Can you drop the fucking act_ but she’s afraid Katya is going to change her mind, look at her again and remember: Oh, yeah, I hate this bitch. Instead she rolls her eyes and extends her hand, limp wrist, like she expects it to be kissed.

Katya sucks Violet’s index finger into her mouth and Violet inhales, a sharp breath as her eyelashes flutter. Katya’s tongue flexes against her fingerprint. She imagines branding it, leaving a signature.

She pulls her finger free, scraping it against Katya’s teeth. She walks toward the bathroom and tosses a glance over her shoulder. “You coming, or what?”

“I hope so,” Katya quirks. Violet kind of wants to kick her in the balls.

She doesn’t look back again, but after a moment she can feel Katya behind her. She pulls open the door to the bathroom.

It’s okay, as far as club bathrooms go. The unidentified bodily fluid count is practically zero, and the condoms in the vending machine are several months away from their expiration date. Violet barely notices; it feels like her vision is blurring somehow, like she’s not inhabiting her body all the way. The tile on the floor sparkles gold. Katya’s grip is hard on her wrist now, pulling her into a stall, sliding the door lock into place. Katya pushes her against the wall.

It’s like a vivisection. Violet feels torn open by Katya’s teeth at her throat, by her hands. _Have you ever been murdered? It’s like that, but better._

She’s writing poetry in her head like a fucking freak and feeling nails dig into her thigh and Katya won’t, can’t, won’t look at her. Violet’s eyes flutter, half-closed. A lipstick mark she left on Katya’s neck goes in and out of focus as she exhales.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are super appreciated! & i'm on tumblr @twofuckingbirdsbxtch


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